


Reaching in the Dark

by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe), printersdeadly, printersdevils (tuesdaysgone)



Series: The End of Love 'verse [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will, Dream Sex, Dreams, First Time, Hannibal/Will - Freeform, Hannigram - Freeform, ItsStillBeautiful, M/M, Psychic, Top Hannibal, Will Is Okay With That, Will POV, abuse of mind palace, borderline ass worship, consensual sex even in a dream setting tbh, fantasies, hannibal loves that fuggin tush ok, honestly this is just flat out porn tbh, one true love trope, sex - anal, sex - manual, sex - oral, sex - rimming, slightly spacey, special bond, though honestly I'd call him a service top because frankly it's all about Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 16:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/gleamingandwholeanddeadly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/printersdeadly/pseuds/printersdeadly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/printersdevils
Summary: Following the stunning revelation of the extent of their closeness, Hannibal and Will continue to share dreams - and try to navigate the implications when they take on a sudden, helpless intimacy.Or: Hannibal and Will take the next step. Hannibal veritably bounces.





	Reaching in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part to our soul mate/ telepathic bond fic 'Let the River Rush In' - it could maaaaybe be read as a standalone if you just wanted some smut but it'll make more sense with the first part.

_It starts with the chapel, a choir running through Latin phrases from somewhere nearby but out of sight. It's a dream Will's had a million times, though he fancies it's darker tonight, warmed by candlelight._

_He feels heat twining around him out of the phantom dark, and presence, and hands. The feel of skin meeting skin is a veneration. When he turns to look, the Chapel ribbons away, and he's aware of pressure against his back; the heat of breath against his neck. He knows whose breath, he knows whose body. The tip of a nose against his nape; hands sliding up his flanks, familiar as his own._

_"Turn around," Hannibal murmurs, voice like running water._

_Will hesitates only for a moment. Their bodies brush as he turns, a slow glide of flesh. "Hannibal," he says quietly, but the rest of the words trail into nothing at the feeling of more hands, the skim of lips on his throat; cushioning dark. _

_He sighs, arches closer. This feels different to any other careful touch they've shared, incongruous to their waking dynamics. Will feels teeth, and then in the dark Hannibal goes down on his knees and his Bordeaux red lips are gleaming as he kisses Will's hips. Will's gasp echoes off stone. He daren't touch._

_Dream logic means he doesn't remember how or when Hannibal starts to taste his skin, but once he's there, his mouth is brand-hot and excruciatingly slow. And then they're horizontal, and Will is twisting on dark sheets as Hannibal devours him. Waves of sensation crash through him, and Hannibal's name bubbles on his lips._

_It's a split screen of pleasure; anticipation, taste, sensation - as if he were both giving and receiving. His mouth waters with the salt slick, his skin heats with a flush of blood. And Hannibal's voice, soft and smooth. _

I always wanted to taste you.

Well, I know that, _Will answers wryly._

_The same lips that stroke him to raptures brush simultaneously over the scar on his forehead in a kiss like a promise, before becoming just the former once more. Will moans again, feeling so many things tangle and wrap him tight. He reaches for Hannibal's hand and pulls him up; feels his solid warmth against him._

_Mine, he thinks._

_Hannibal settles his body against his own. Their hands brush and grasp. Hot, seeking skin, and then rocking, and a non-localized flood of pleasure like the echo of remembered touch. He mouths at Hannibal's throat and feels the ghost of a pinch in his own. Another droplet of sensation in an ocean. He should be familiar with drowning by now._

_It never gets old. He's so achingly hard, and Hannibal is heavy and hot, surging against him. They feel like one in Will's mind. Fused at the core, blinding and brilliant. He feels them both shaking, hears the tumbling roar of the river. Lets himself be carried away. _

And then he jerks awake.

To his consternation, he feels spreading wetness in his boxers. It's a harsh blast of an entirely different heat - wet dreams in his forties. His ears burn. He throws an arm over his eyes with a groan, tries to calm his breaths.

He's still trying when he hears his door snick open. Rattled, he hastily pulls his knees up and shuffles up in the bed, frowning. "Sorry, did I wake you-?"

"You did more than wake me," Hannibal says softly. His hair is a little ruffled from sleep, his expression soft.

Feeling strangely accused, Will waits, hugging his knees to his chest, wiping sweat from his face. He daren't speak.

"Will," Hannibal says.

"What?" He cups the back of his neck.

"Let me in."

"You let yourself in," Will grouses. "Didn't even knock."

"That's not what I mean."

"Well, it is what I mean."

"It was real," Hannibal replies. "Can you blame me for wanting to be near?"

"Hannibal, I can't control it, you can't either - it wasn't..."

"Not an invitation?" Hannibal murmurs. "I see."

Will takes a sharp breath, hurt by it and feeling the hurt it causes in turn. "Hannibal..." he doesn't answer, but he doesn't leave, so Will pushes on. "Just... come, sit down."

He's still somehow surprised when Hannibal joins him, settling gracefully onto the edge of the mattress. He's watching Will closely, nostrils flaring. Will flushes under his regard.

"Stop that," he mutters.

"Why? I admire you in all your states and demeanors, you know."

"Oh, I know that."

"You don't approve?"

"It's fine." He sighs. "I had come to terms with imagining you. Still difficult to swallow you literally living in the back of my mind the last five years."

"Not as safe as imagination?"

"Nothing is safe now."

"Do you need it to be," Hannibal murmurs, "or just think you do?"

"Needing and wanting are different."

Hannibal looks at him with inscrutable eyes. Gingerly, Will gets up, going to the en suite with some clean shorts to wash up, trying to keep it casual. He can't quite make himself send Hannibal away. It might feel less like he's a teenager with an awkward crush when he goes back, he hopes, running cold water to splash his face.

He remembers how it felt earlier, Hannibal's arms around him in the ocean. Hannibal's arms around him in the warm dark of his dreams. Face hot, he does a quick clean up and goes back through to the bedroom in the clean shorts.

Hannibal is still curled on the edge of the bed. He looks faintly - not guilty, but sheepish, and Will tries not to imagine he's been sniffing his sheets. Before, he'd think it below him, but he's beginning to struggle with that denial - that there is no such thing with Hannibal. Not with regards to him. Human constraints of politeness have no hold on Hannibal - he is like ancient beings in ancient tales, arbitrarily assigning pleasure and displeasure as he pleases.

Will sighs and slides back beneath his sheets. "You might as well stay."

"Stay?"

"Here." Will scratches his chest idly, noticing the way Hannibal's eyes follow the motion of his hand. "I want to go back to sleep, we're practically sleeping together now anyway."

"One could argue so," Hannibal agrees, still moving slowly. Will ignores the ambiguity of their ducking and diving and climbs into bed with a sigh.

Hannibal stretches out facing him, eyes still open. They watch one another in the dim light of Will's bedside lamp. Will could lose himself in it if he didn't beware. Slowly, as if reaching toward a predator, he touches Hannibal's hand.

"I can't make you do things in my dreams. You're still operating the specter even in my imagination."

"You resent that?"

"No, actually. I prefer it. You can't hide your motives as easily."

"You don't trust me."

"Hannibal." Despite his incredulity, Will tries to be kind. "Trust is not something either of us have ever had the luxury of."

"Our lives now..." Hannibal murmurs, "require a measure of trust."

"Altruism as self preservation is not trust," Will whispers.

Hannibal looks wounded. Will doesn't buy it, but he realizes he might be being unfair.

"I understand that dehumanizing me helps you analyze your feelings without considering mine, Will. Are you trying to reassure yourself I am a participant in your fantasies, and not a subject? All you need do is ask." Hannibal manages to make that sound as reasonable as anything else. Even the _shared dreaming_.

Will sets his jaw. "Are you?"

"An enthusiastic one," Hannibal murmurs.

Will swallows at that. He's never had cause to consider his sexuality outside of "straight" before, whatever that means; it had been one of the only things that hadn't felt like a mystery. Until now. Hannibal has shaken every foundation.

"Didn't even buy me dream dinner first." He tries to keep it joking.

Hannibal gives him an approximation of a smile. His stomach sinks.

"Will," he says quietly, "I am not a figment of your imagination, and nor is what you want."

"How do you know?" Will says weakly.

"Because however I might deceive you, it wouldn't be like this."

It has the ring of absolute truth to it. Will closes his eyes against the pain it inspires. He's accepted so much; he needs to accept this too.

"Okay," he mutters. "Okay. You want me."

_Is Hannibal in love with me_? he asks a vague memory of Bedelia. 

"You told me you loved me," Hannibal echoes, as if he knows. Of course he knows.

"Loving and desiring are different branches."

"Yes," Hannibal agrees. "Which branch are you on?" 

Will sighs. "I think I'm a limb."

"I don't know if that's possible, Will."

"Sure it is."

"You're your own entity, then?"

"No, I'm one with you."

"I see," Hannibal murmurs.

"You know that."

Finally, a brief, rare smile. "Of course." He turns his hand under Will's, and their fingers delicately slot together. Will breathes in, then out. “And so you contain the fork in the branches - the dichotomy of where _a__gápe _meets _éros._”

"There’s no dichotomy - whatever I thought I was before, I know I’m not now. Whatever I thought I wanted… it all changed. We kissed," Will whispers, "but I feel like we've barely touched since, unless our minds find one another."

"And you'd like to?"

Will swallows, considers, and then nods. "When I'm awake," he says with faint reproach.

Hannibal tilts his head, the shadows catching in the hoods of his eyes. "You're awake now."

Will feels his face flush, ashamed. "Well observed, Doctor."

"And I'm very willing to touch you."

"Very willing," Will repeats, with a humiliating whine to his voice, “that’s reassuring.”

Just like his dream, he can't make the first move. Hannibal tightens their hands, cinching Will closer as he raises his head and kisses him. It's just like before, that is to say, world-bending. Will wonders if it'll always cause auditory hallucinations of choirs. Maybe he'll get used to it. Part of him hopes not.

He gasps silently into Hannibal's mouth. A pleased little hum of laughter meets the sound. He wants to be angry, but instead it only brings a rush of heat.

Hannibal's other arm curls over his waist and tenderly pulls him closer. It should spark fear, but it feels so good he can hardly think. Will's wariness is an almost necessary undercurrent; acid to temper the sweetness. Hannibal seems to adore it, cradling him gently as their lips brush and tongues taste. His hand comes up to comb into Will's hair and he feels rightly tethered and known.

He can't imagine feeling this with anyone else he's ever kissed. He misses Molly, sometimes, but he misses the fiction. This is the reality - he's rotten, and bound to the devil, and maybe that's just fine. Choirs still sing in his head, after all.

He pulls back, just to breathe. Hannibal presses their cheeks together this time. "How did that make you feel?"

"Did you hear the choir too?" Will whispers.

"I always do, when I look at you." No note of teasing. "When I touch you," Hannibal continues, "I hear triumphant symphonies. Sonnets, serenades. It's all for you." His voice is exultant.

Will takes a shaky breath. "Hannibal -" He knows his emotions are plain in his voice.

"Yes, Will?" His smile is indulgent.

"Show me," he breathes.

Hannibal tilts his head. "What shall I show you, darling boy?"

"What you were trying to show me before I woke up."

"Oh, that." His smile bends, turns even more wicked.

"Don't," Will complains.

"Don't what? Enjoy you?"

"Enjoy mocking me, more like."

Hannibal gives him a level look. "While I do enjoy mocking you occasionally, this is not one of those times."

"I have to trust you," Will mutters. "If not always, then just for now."

Hannibal leans their cheeks together once again. Will lets himself still again.

"Now is as good a time as any," Hannibal murmurs. He smoothes a hand down his side. Despite it all, Will shivers with pleasurable anticipation. "Let's talk about boundaries - physical, if not mental."

"Okay," Will whispers. It takes him a moment to summon the courage to consider what that means. "You go first, Hannibal."

"My own boundaries never meant much to me," Hannibal shrugs, "whatever you want is yours."

"Whatever I want?" Will questions dryly.

"You say it like it's unreasonable."

"There are a lot of undignified things I can ask for."

"Name an undignified thing you _would_ ask of me."

Well, that's the question, isn't it. Will isn't...sure. "I wouldn't," he realizes. Because that's one of the things he loves about Hannibal. He's never undignified, even when he is. He takes a breath. "So, no limits?"

"Not that I'll impose." He smiles faintly. "I'm more interested in yours, Will."

"Just give me plenty of time to tell you to stop."

"Fair."

He presses in, and their lips meet once more. It's less sweet than before. Something sharper. An edge of hunger, the scent of steel.

"Will you allow me to taste you everywhere?" Hannibal whispers slowly when they part.

"Everywhere sounds dangerous."

"Will, I promise, I won't cut you open again. That's not what I want."

Will looks at him, and he already feels flayed. "Okay," he whispers.

Hannibal smiles slowly. "Thank you," he murmurs, ever so polite.

"Thank you," Will echoes.

He gets a kiss to his collarbones for his trouble. Hannibal is fluid and graceful as he shifts Will onto his back. Will just looks up at him with wide eyes.

"Time to say stop," Hannibal echoes, as he slides his palm down Will's chest slowly.

Will watches his hands, but he doesn't say it. He just sighs at the feeling. He can't say he's ever really stopped thinking about Hannibal's hands. Nor the mind that powers them. He shivers faintly.

"You've always been so receptive to sensation when you're not dissociating," Hannibal observes.

Will clenches his jaw. "Is that supposed to get me in the mood?"

"Just an observation. I'm well aware you're not likely to stop thinking, regardless."

"So stop me thinking, Doctor."

Hannibal laughs softly. "I will certainly do my best."

His lips brush Will's sternum and Will touches his hair. Swipes his fingers gently through the ash blond strands. He can hear the far off sounds of Hannibal's mind even now. He sighs, overcome already. Hannibal hasn't stopped kissing him. Down his trembling belly now, to the scar. Will wants to tell him to stop there. He doesn't want to want to. 

Hannibal inevitably lingers. His tongue works over the uneven skin with thoroughness. A wordless hiss is all Will can muster in reply. Hannibal's long fingers feather over his ribs like piano keys.

"I must say, I consider all my work to be an improvement, but this might be my masterpiece."

Will's hands clench. "Jesus, Hannibal!"

"What is it?"

"You can't say things like that."

"And why not?"

"You _gutted me_ like a deer."

"You gutted _me_ like a deer, Will." There's a trace of emotion in his voice, but his lips keep touching.

Will can't help his own lip from curling, though it's not quite with resentment. He understands. Because of course he does.

"Is this not the cut that opened you to me in more ways than the literal?" Hannibal whispers.

Will draws in a huge breath. Then sighs. "You're terrible," he says, more an admission than he'd like. So is the way Hannibal smiles.

Will sits himself up to kiss him, and Hannibal pushes himself up to reciprocate. It's a long moment before Will can do anything but kiss him again. Then he sighs against his cheek. 

"Keep going," he murmurs.

Indulgent once more, Hannibal complies. Will measures his breath, his responses. Catalogues them behind his eyes. Sweeping strokes of his hands, his lips; the downcast of his pale lashes. He's doing something to Will, whatever his reservations. He's always doing something to Will.

"Did you ever think of us together, before?" Hannibal says. In anyone else's voice, it would be innocent curiosity, or insecurity. This question glints in the light.

"Don't you know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I knew."

"Not at first," Will admits, voice hushed.

"When did it start? Before Molly and Walter? Or during?"

Will's fingers clench in his hair. He can't bring himself to reply, but Hannibal seems patient enough.

"It presented itself as other things at first."

"Such as?" Hannibal murmurs.

"Used to dream about you eating me."

"Nightmares?"

"Sort of."

"Show me," Hannibal says.

"No," Will says, quickly. No, that's not safe at all.

Hannibal fixes him with his bright-eyed crow's gaze and licks his lower lip. "If you insist."

Just him stalling at being told 'no' makes Will breathe a little easier. But he knows Hannibal won't forget. Even now as he leans to kiss Will once more, he feels the edges of his teeth. He groans softly as they travel down his soft stomach. Bite into his hip, soft but definitely there.

"Tell me more," he murmurs.

"What do you want to know?"

"When it presented itself truthfully," Hannibal replies.

Will bites his lip. "A few months before I met Molly," he mutters.

"How did you know?"

"I spent days," Will whispers, "reliving that moment in Florence."

"Which one?"

"The one in the gallery."

"I swore to you I would remember it always, and I did."

"So did I - I remembered it every goddamn day. And then I began to imagine ways it might have ended differently," Will murmurs.

"Will you tell me about that?"

"I don't know if I can." He fidgets. "In my revisions, I keep the knife in my pocket."

"In mine as well," Hannibal murmurs, biting gently at his hipbone again. "And then what?"

"You take me back to your flat," Will breathes.

"And we talk about teacups, and time, and forgiveness, and recklessness."

"Eventually," Will says softly.

"What do we do before that?" Hannibal tilts his head.

"Shower away the aches and the grime and everything else that's touched us."

"Everything outside of us," Hannibal agrees. "I touch you?"

Will hesitates, and then nods.

"You let me," Hannibal murmurs. "You enjoy it."

"In the revision, I don't even have to be wary of you."

"How does that feel?" Hannibal asks.

"Too good to be true," Will laughs quietly.

"What do you prefer?" Hannibal says, pushing gently at Will's thigh until he bends his leg up and out. "The revision or the reality?"

"You mean this or the reality where you would have killed and eaten me if we hadn't been kidnapped?"

Hannibal sighs. "Perhaps I should give you a while to decide how you feel," he says, mildly. He starts to pull away.

"Don't," Will says, suddenly, fiercely. "Please."

Hannibal stops immediately, head tilting.

"I want you to stay," Will presses.

"Stay, or keep going?"

"It depends what you want to keep going with. Talking doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere."

"We can't avoid these conversation forever," Hannibal tells him evenly.

Will sighs. "Hannibal, _kiss_ me."

He takes a breath, and then complies. Will draws him down to blanket him with his body. Safer not to talk, not tonight, he thinks. They're too charged. 

Well, he feels charged. Hannibal feels soft and enveloping and real to Will’s hard and aching and sharp. He cups Hannibal's face in his hands and kisses him to breathlessness and it feels _good_. It feels like it might have felt, back then.

Something inside him has cracked. As ever, Hannibal slips his way into the gap. Not with a blade, this time. Without Will's conscious effort holding him off, they're back in the hushed chapel, enfolded in the soft velvet dark. He gasps with the sheer relief of it. Hannibal seems calmer too.

"I've never known contentment like this before," Hannibal murmurs.

"What, poking each other's old wounds?"

"No. I find it here, in our chapel."

Will's breath catches despite his scathing. He leans his cheek against Hannibal's for a moment and breathes through it. "I want this," he assures Hannibal again.

"I know," Hannibal promises. He kisses him softly. Will feels a cool breath of air from beyond the doors. "Let me spread you out by the stream," Hannibal murmurs.

It’s two seconds’ hesitation, before Will remembers his promise - to try to trust. "Okay, yes." 

It feels good suddenly. Right. Like yesterday, before the doubt crept in. Will feels soft grass against his bare back, the scent of clean water around them and Hannibal on top, warm and sure. The light is sunlit evening, leaking through the trees.

"If you do eat me," he says softly, "will you honor every part?"

"I'll turn you into art," Hannibal whispers, "you have my word." To Will's shiver, he murmurs an addendum, "but I have no intention of being without you. Not for a very long time." Another little smile. "Besides, what if I die first?"

"I don't think you can. I think you'd just stay right here."

Hannibal has a moment of genuine curiosity as he considers Will's words. "I could wish for nothing more."

Will knows what it sounds like but decides he doesn't care. Trust Hannibal to hope for him to spend the rest of his days clinging to his after-image.

"I suspect the same," Hannibal whispers then.

"Then you'd get your cake, and to eat it," Will muses.

"So to speak." Hannibal's eyes gleam with humor. It's Will's favorite look on him, daring, self-satisfied. He kisses the plump smile.

Hannibal allows himself to be moved. Will rolls on top, and smoothes a hand down his side. "You're beautiful," he breathes, desperately genuine.

"As are you." He gazes upward calmly. Will leans to kiss his throat.

He tastes Hannibal much as he'd been tasted earlier, stopping short at the v of his hips, asking permission. He glances up but Hannibal just smiles. 

He doesn't tease, like Hannibal had. Just approximates his motions, taking his cock slowly into his mouth, not quite hard. Hannibal makes a soft noise and his hand glides into Will's hair as Will adjusts to the sensations. He keeps his mouth equally soft. It's hard to keep from feeling like a teenager again, especially with Hannibal whispering encouragement. 

"That’s perfect… Lovely boy."

Will ignores the heat rising in his face as Hannibal firms against his lips. He's breathing as if he's experiencing something holy, something entirely focal to his existence. It's hard not to let it become a part of him, too.

Will has the strange sensation of being Hannibal and being with Hannibal. It's always been like this, but not as much as this. He's feeling dual sensations; the draw of lips, the tingle of pleasure up his spine. It's dizzying. It's humbling. He moves with long strokes of his tongue, and careful sucks, and feels the shivering, crawling sweetness as if in his own nerves. 

“Will,” Hannibal praises softly, stroking his hair and watching him, fingertips just anchored at his jaw. He holds Will’s gaze for the length of a few braver sucks, pressing deep, and Will can feel the way he resists the urge to thrust.

He craves the feeling in reverse, suddenly. A circuit of pleasure, any way he can get it. And he knows Hannibal can tell.

"Come up here," he purrs.

Will pulls off, panting. Fingers sooth through his curls.

"That was so good, darling."

"I can carry on?"

"No, I think it's my turn."

Will sighs and defers. Hannibal tips him back into the pillows - the long, cool grass - and goes down again.

Will can't remember feeling like this before; so lacking in awareness of the world around them but for _their_ world. He can't remember anything feeling like this. Ever. He covers his eyes with his hand and _feels_ as Hannibal takes him into his mouth. Long, hot sucks, his nails in Will's thighs. He's relentless this time, no teasing. Even when he pulls off it's to mouth at Will's balls; suck at tender skin.

Will still whimpers when he pushes his legs up against his chest with a questioning glance up. "Hannibal..."

"Let me." It's nearly pleading. Will can only bring himself to say no so many times.

“You don’t want me to get a shower-?”

“You’re perfectly clean, trust me.”

"...Okay," he whispers, muscles jumping. He feels shaky and vulnerable but - well, that's nothing new. Not when Hannibal is involved.

He's lipping at Will's inner thigh, stubble scraping before he goes down to lap over his hole, startling a gasp out of him. At the same time he trails one hand up; curls his fingers around Will’s glistening length and starts a slow, massaging stroke as he licks him wet and thorough. Will can only endure it, gripping the sheets and hearing the choir chorus louder as his toes helplessly curl.

“Shit - _Hannibal..._”

He'll have beard burn after tonight, Will thinks with a queer shiver, anticipatory. That's new, too. So is the sensation of Hannibal's tongue slipping inside him; a few long, pressing licks in tandem with his fingers making slick passes over the head of his cock. Will gasps and snaps his cheek against the sheets, clutching his own hair, his spread thighs starting to shake, his noises sounding nearly pained even to his own ears.

It's not a "stop", though, so Hannibal doesn't. Not for what feels like hours. He licks over every inch of soft skin on display. Licks and sucks until Will is vocally protesting the tease. Then he gives him the edge of teeth as he starts to rub his thumb under his glans, rhythmic and smooth.

"Hannibal, _please_," Will grits. He feels like Hannibal has been licking him forever, saliva running down his skin, his cock flush and so hard, dribbling fluid.

Still preoccupied with the former, Hannibal makes a noise of amusement, lifting his chin to kiss Will's inner thigh lazily with red lips. His eyes slide to Will’s cock, and he licks them appetively. "Please what, darling."

"Fuck, let me do something, tell me what you want."

"I want you to be still while I taste you."

"You've been tasting me for a goddamn year."

"I've been wanting to. This? Not nearly long enough. But, we have time." Will considers this, stroking through Hannibal's hair until he noses at Will's wrist and adds, "May I keep touching you?"

"Yes," Will whispers, stomach quivering. It still takes him a moment to gather the courage to lean and kiss him; wipe Hannibal’s mouth and chin gently with his own shaking fingers. “It - it was good, really good…”

“I agree.” Smiling, Hannibal tips him gently onto his side and wraps solidly around his back, coaxing him until he can get his hand back on his cock. His thighs start to shake again with the sensation of being held; being played. Hannibal makes a soothing, encouraging noise as Will's thighs and stomach start to tense. His circling hand tightens slightly.

"Hannibal," Will gasps.

"Let go," Hannibal whispers. Or maybe it's in his mind.

There's so much sensation, cotton on his skin, grass, cool air and stifling bedroom heat. Dappled sunlight kisses and Hannibal’s lips. Their skin is the only grounding thing; the scrape of stubble, soft muscle. He sinks his teeth into his own knuckles to focus. Maybe Hannibal feels the pain, because he gasps. His stroking hand pauses then resumes.

He's fisting the head of Will's cock slick and fast. Will whines, hips jerking. It's too much, he can barely contain himself. Hannibal doesn't want him to; he can feel his anticipation in every cell. He presses with his tongue against the scar on Will's shoulder, bites and gently sucks and Will cries out. He's coming, fisting the sheets and groaning into his skin.

Hannibal presses close through it. His hand feels perfect, like he knows exactly when to push and when to ease back. Of course he does; Will can feel the way he preens at the achievement; the way he clearly tastes the echoes of Will's pleasure. And Will's pleasure is almost too big to contain. It's still shaking him deep.

Hannibal's hand still works gently as he smears his wet lips against Will's shoulder. He's hard against Will's spine and Will gasps, arching in stark realization; heady desire.

"Will?" he murmurs.

"Mm-? Yeah?"

"Keep holding still for me?"

"Yeah. You don't want me to-?"

"This is perfect," Hannibal murmurs, and Will feels him shift and rock until he’s skidding along in the damp between his thighs, pressing gently to keep them closed.

Will twists to kiss him, hands reaching and urgent. He bites at his bottom lip and Hannibal's gasp is laced with vocal longing. Will can feel the echo of the sting, and how much he craves it. He bites again, and gently sucks, shifting with Hannibal's hands.

He lets himself be shaped for his pleasure; lets Hannibal hold him and press sleek and firm against him as they curl closer on their sides. His arm comes tight over Will's chest and their cheeks scrape together as he fucks into the clench of his spitslick thighs. Will gasps, neck bending back. Hannibal's teeth find the tendons there. He bites down hard enough to make Will cry out.

All the while he can feel pleasure building like an echo, a memory. An elastic cord stretching between them. Will writhes and arches. He still feels the echo of his own coming. Now, he wants to feel Hannibal's. He bares his teeth against nothing. Feels Hannibal's answering bare against his skin. It fills his chest like a growl.

It feels cherishing and demanding; deep and complex. It feels like a lost puzzle piece.

Will covers Hannibal's hands with his own. Hannibal rocks his hips. "So beautiful, Will," he murmurs. "I am yours," he adds. "Let me show you."

"Show me," Will agrees quickly. He throws his head back, crosses his ankles and tenses his thighs to feel Hannibal rut. He cries out in place of Hannibal when he feels the first rush of wetness.

Fingers pressing a white star into his torso, Hannibal rides it out with his face against Will's throat, breaths ragged. He's silent, but he clings with his entire body. Will clings too, craning back to look at him. His embrace feels like water and heavy velvet. And like that, Will sees the ceiling fan whirring amidst the leaves.

It's real. He's not alone. They're curling together, breathing hard, tangled in the sheets. Will closes his eyes and feels what relaxation is like from the body behind him. He can still hear the water, distantly. Hannibal's hand is heavy and comfortable on his stomach, over the scar. He doesn't stroke it, merely covers it.

Skin wet with their mutual efforts, Will savors for a moment, before shifting to grab a towel. He hears Hannibal's soft indrawn breath when he returns.

"What is it?" He wipes at him gently, then his own stomach and thighs. Then he laughs, wryly. "Did you just smell me?"

"Smelling us," Hannibal muses.

"What do we smell like, to you?"

"Satisfaction," Hannibal decides. Will can hear it in his voice.

"What's that smell like?"

"Salty skin. Rich dark wine."

"Intoxicating. Aged?" Will teases, just gently.

"With all my anticipation over the years," Hannibal retorts.

"In a Cabernet Sauvignon wine barrel," Will muses.

This time, Hannibal laughs. "Perhaps."

Will smiles into the sheets. They settle back together more comfortably, chest-to-back like before. There's no attempt to separate into their own rooms. Hannibal seems to languish in Will's space; his inhalations are soft and irregular. If he's still wandering a memory palace, it is his own, now. Will squeezes his hand to keep him close. He feels the tip of his nose press against his neck.

"Sleep well," Hannibal whispers against his ear.

Will breathes out. "You too." 

He holds onto Hannibal's hands and goes over everything again. Their connection. Their feelings. Their actions. In the dark, he feels flushed and pleased, but lit with the same caution as ever. Wanting, he finds, is usually dangerous - but when the object of that desire is the devil, what could truly go wrong?

No more time for caution. Will guides Hannibal's hand up and gently kisses his knuckles before he closes his eyes. Trust requires two people, he knows. 

He can be one of them now.

*

This morning, in their little white house in Cuba, Will wakes with Hannibal Lecter in his mind and in his bed, and today it's like a sea change; he's not sure he remembers what it was like before.

He considers the jewel-bright light caught in the curtains; Hannibal beside him, almost certainly affecting sleep. He rolls over to consider him more fully; consider last night.

He's never been with a man, a fact which Hannibal had patently enjoyed, though he was certainly not averse to being touched. He remembers the way Hannibal's eyelashes had captured the lamplight. It had been so overwhelming. The breath, and thought, the rushing water. Coming had felt a little like drowning all over again. The same fear, the same peace. Hannibal, fondly knowing in the back of his skull. He ought to be used to that by now.

Now, his thoughts are quiet; maybe he actually is sleeping. Will reaches to touch his shoulder. He gets one slow sweep of the skin over his collarbone before those golden eyes open.

"Hi," Will says, quietly.

"Will," Hannibal smiles slowly.

"Hannibal." He smiles back.

"Good morning." Hannibal sets a hand over Will's.

"It is." He holds still for the kiss Hannibal leans in to bestow. It's as gentle as anything. Will breathes out slowly when it breaks.

"Would you like to talk about last night?" Hannibal asks, conversational.

"Like to, or recognize we ought to?"

"I could make us some breakfast."

"Sure," Will murmurs.

Hannibal smiles at him, a touch sly. He knows Hannibal feels what he feels.

"Is this gonna be a relationship talk or something? I think we might be a bit past that." Will grumbles.

The smile only gets slyer. "I'll make you some breakfast." Hannibal slips out of bed, so casual it makes Will feel casual too.

Will can't help watching him dress, either. He's turning over how he feels. Mostly, he feels good. A little wary, but that's only wise. He's still adjusting to yesterday's revelation. This entire thing feels like a fever dream.

He's not sure what it means, that it's not.

He'll never understand, maybe. He gets up, startling just slightly when Hannibal brings his robe and pulls it around his shoulders. He kisses his shoulder softly as well. Will feels struck by the intimacy, despite the early hours when Hannibal came willingly to his bed; to his dreams. Stayed willingly in his arms.

He's in Hannibal's arms now, as he adjusts his robe and fastens it at the waist. He can feel himself being spoiled, and he doesn't know if he likes it. Expectant, Hannibal meets his gaze and waits.

"I'll come down and help you cook," Will says.

"Very well. You can sous chef." 

He slips into his own light robe. He looks soft and homely. Will can't help but marvel at his camouflage. Like Zeus, he can take any form he wishes.

As if he can hear the mental praise, Hannibal glances at him; catches his hand and brings it to his lips. Their eyes catch and hold. Hannibal tugs Will gently toward the stairs and down into the sunlit kitchen.

Will starts to load the coffee machine. The kitchen is always Hannibal's domain, but there are places for Will here too, and he finds them as they put together a light breakfast, brushing past one another like orbiting stars. They sit on the porch to eat. Hannibal suggests a swim, and Will agrees. It's all very, very normal.  


After several lengths, Will hauls himself up on the edge of the pool, feeling the ache in his thighs from the night before. It feels good, so he basks in it, an aria creeping through his mind, the bedroom quality of Hannibal’s chapel seeming close and simultaneously far away. The sun dries the water off his arms and shoulders almost at once. Hannibal keeps swimming, so Will watches his sleek form in motion. He looks deadly even from here, cutting through the water. Will thinks of him in the ocean and is forcibly reminded of sharks in tanks. He's contained - for now.

He breaks the surface of the water and backstrokes down the length of the pool. He makes Will's mouth go dry.

"Okay," he mutters to himself, rearranging his shorts covertly, "not straight."

He's still trying to come to grips with it, clearly. It's the least concerning problem he's had since meeting Hannibal. Maybe that's why he's fixated so. It's been a long time since he felt _good_. And last night had been - that and more. Waking up unconfused, almost guiltless. The guilt, fleeting.

It creeps in a little now as Hannibal spots him and pauses at the end of the pool, swiping water out of his eyes. Then, he smiles. He makes a few purposeful strokes toward Will. Will can feel him. He's still trying to resign himself to that, as much as he likes it.

His hand around his ankle is gentle. Just a touch for enjoyment. Will watches him warily. "Hi."

"Done already?" Hannibal asks.

"Shouldn't swim after eating," Will grins, "might get cramp."

"That's not at all medically proven," Hannibal replies.

Will reaches down and strokes his hair. "I was watching you," he admits.

A slight lift of a smile. "I know."

"I'm sure you do."

"I find myself pleased by it."

"Oh yeah?"

A cool hand settles on Will's thigh. "Yes, beloved, more than pleased."

"I thought you might be."

"You find that amusing."

"I find it comforting."

"Is it comforting? To know how necessary I find you?"

"It is. Things you don't find necessary are things that usually get dispensed with."

"Never you."

"Hm," Will says faintly. He's watching Hannibal smile, and his heart is thumping.

"Do you need me to promise, Will?"

"Do you need _me_ to promise, Hannibal?"

"What would you promise me?" He takes on an eager edge.

"That I'm yours?" he murmurs.

The press of Hannibal's teeth against his lower lip, the appetitive suck, shows Will the water is sufficiently chummed. He's about to make a deal with the devil. Of course, he already has, hasn't he?

"I promise," he whispers. He watches Hannibal's eyes dip to his lips, then rise to meet his once more.

"As do I," he whispers.

Will feels it in his chest. He nods shakily. The monster is his monster. And he is Hannibal's. He knows this with every cell of his body. With every scar. His mind whirls back over the last few years. Something tweaks.

"Do you remember your dreams last night, Will?" Hannibal asks softly.

Will meets his eyes silently. His stomach tightens slightly. "You mean after?"

"I think we both remember before."

Will sighs. "I was dreaming about Abigail."

"Do you do that often?"

"It's the only time I get to see her," Will says, quietly. Hannibal doesn't respond. Embarrassed, Will rubs the back of his neck. "I spent more time with her in my imagination than in real life, and when we were together, she was afraid of me."

"She's a part of your memory palace now."

Will sighs, unhappily. "She's a part of a ‘me’ who doesn't exist anymore."

"Did you view her as your moral compass? Did your goodness die with her?" Hannibal asks softly.

Will sees red for a moment. "Your goodness died with her."

"Did it? Then it was your misconceptions that met their end, was it not?"

Will takes a steadying breath; bites between the teeth of his anger. "It was just Abigail that died." He rubs his wet hair back from his face. "The rest is - incidental."

"The rest is you. That's never incidental to me."

"Don't be cute," Will mutters, flexing some of the tension out of his shoulders. He gulps in a breath as Hannibal pulls himself out of the pool to sit next to him.

"Are you regretting last night, Will? Remembering what I am?"

"I think it's more that I'm admitting what I am," Will mutters.

"You're astonishing," Hannibal whispers. The wet stretch of his upper arm presses against Will's as he leans in.

Breath catching, Will lets their lips brush. It's all he needs to remember that with Hannibal, he's _known_ \- and understood, and loved. If the Devil's love burns hot, he'll let himself burn. He puts his hand to Hannibal's cool chest and sighs. He's the one burning hot.

Hannibal's arm curls around him, a possessive but casual touch. Will sinks into it nonetheless. They're just close for the sake of it now, breathing one another's warmth. Will is startlingly content.

"I love to see you in the water, too," Hannibal whispers. "I like imagining you in the ocean."

"Why?"

"It was where we were born, to me." The ‘we’ carries the weight of something sacred, in his voice.

Will pushes his face into his neck with a sigh. He knows that if he were to follow the urge to bite, that Hannibal would welcome it. To an extent. They live together in that between-space. Instead, he chooses a kiss.

The soft moan that Hannibal gives him in response vibrates into his lips. Unexpected heat flares. Maybe not so unexpected; Will shifts again minutely. He exhales audibly.

Hannibal smiles and cups his scarred cheek gently. Their eyes meet and hold.

"I crave you every second," Hannibal whispers, "everything is ashen without you."

"You don't need to be without me."

"It's only just sinking in." He kisses Will's brow, tenderly. "I'm glad to hear you say it."

"I'll say it again." When Hannibal just waits - "You'll never be without me again."

He chases it with another careful kiss. Choirs sing in the distance.

"Let's go for a walk," Hannibal murmurs, "then I'll fix us some lunch."

"I don't want to walk," Will says boldly.

"No? What do you want to do, Will?"

"I want you to take me back to bed."

The flash of his tongue again. Hannibal raises his chin. "As you wish."

"Good." Another kiss. "You done?"

"I am now."

"Let's go." Will pulls him up with eager hands.

"I'd like a shower, if you'd care to join me?" Hannibal suggests.

"I would," Will agrees, a little breathless.

Hannibal smiles and gestures him ahead, wordlessly following. Will goes to Hannibal's room, this time. He's not sure he ever saw his old room, but he imagines it wasn't much different than this one, dark and warm and meticulous. Will has a burgeoning desire to mess it up. Much like its owner.

He can feel Hannibal watching him again, assessing. Always a predator's look. It's strangely comforting. He's not the only predator in the room.

"Come along, Will." Hannibal goes into the adjoining bathroom to turn on the shower. Will follows, hands fussing with the tie of his swim trunks. He still feels stupidly shy despite everything. Only with his body. Only because Hannibal is decidedly not.

"Christ," he murmurs, as Hannibal drops his trunks. He wants to stare. He doesn't think Hannibal would argue. He steps out of his own shorts with a soft hum of anticipation.

He is not disappointed. Hannibal reaches for him automatically. He's caressing Will's shoulders and chest with his gaze already. And then, his hands.

"Let me wash you," Hannibal says.

"Okay." Will nods, with little trepidation: he can scarcely remember the frescoed ceiling, the gleaming brass tub, from years ago. Here, things are earthy tiles and copper. And the only thing he's under the influence of is Hannibal's dizzying attention.

_It’s a helluva drug_, Will thinks to himself, smiling.

Hannibal draws him under the spray and starts washing him with his own soap. His movements are careful and precise. Will's skin tingles with the contact. He sighs softly, leaning into him. Hannibal looks so beautiful with wet hair falling across his face. Will has to cup his face; consider his need to kiss him. Hannibal was always the one reaching before, touching him where he daren't touch back. Will can reach now. Can be greedy, even.

He curls a hand into Hannibal's hair with a hum. Hannibal stops what he's doing to look at him and Will kisses him slowly. Hannibal's arm slides around his waist, hand creeping to the small of his back. He accepts the kiss like a tribute.

Will strokes down his chest, breathless at their proximity. At the power he has right now. Hannibal's lashes flicker, expression beatific; reflecting pure pleasure. He allows Will to wash him, after a long moment of mere touching. Then he sets about touching Will quite thoroughly. Will moans softly.

"Will you do something for me?" he asks Will.

"Yes," Will whispers.

"You might not like it. Or - initially."

"Tell me," Will replies.

"I want you to let me give you something."

"I - what?"

Hannibal tilts his head and smiles. "Something good."

"Do you delight in being vague?"

"I have no specifics in mind. I just want access to you."

"You - have that," Will frowns.

"You can tell me to stop," Hannibal whispers, "I only want to please you."

Will closes his eyes as Hannibal's fingers circle over his flanks. "Yes, all right."

That smile again, so pleased with himself. "Thank you, Will."

Then he finishes washing them both. Will doesn't fail to notice the way his touch lingers. It makes him quake a bit with anticipation. When they're out of the shower, Hannibal pulls the blankets back off the bed and then pulls Will in for a kiss.

Their damp, cool skin sticks a bit. There's a few glimmering beads of water on Hannibal's shoulders, and Will has to lean to taste them with his tongue while Hannibal's hand slides through his damp curls. Will doesn't miss the faint flex of surprise when he kisses down his chest. 

"I'm allowed to try stuff too, right?"

"Of course, darling."

Will hums a bit at the endearment, pushing Hannibal gently back toward the bed. Hannibal goes without protest, eyes watching warmly. When Will settles between his knees, the warmth turns to heat.

Will trains his eyes down instead. Soothes his hands over Hannibal's belly and hips and thighs, acclimatizing himself. He's spent plenty of time between thighs in the past, even fancied himself okay at it with the encouragement of his partners - but he'd like to be good at this too. Hannibal's hand stays in his hair, not guiding, just resting. Daring him to patronize him, Will lowers his head to kiss the tendon of his inner thigh. He traces it with his tongue. Then back up, experimental over the soft skin of his sack; the join at the base of his cock. Soft and hot, a tantalizing scent. 

He looks up and meets Hannibal's gaze. His lips slightly parted, eyes intent. He looks _hungry_.

“I like tasting you, too.” Confessing it like a secret, he opens his mouth, traces up his shaft with a soft tongue. He can't help but feel ridiculous, but the way Hannibal watches, he's anything but.

He wraps a hand around him, eases back his foreskin to taste the head. Salt sharp, velvety against his tongue. Slowly leaking from the slit, glistening against the flushed skin. Will strokes him firmer, pleased by the smooth slide; Hannibal's soft arch. The way he can feel the throb of Hannibal's blood, perhaps, most of all. He closes his eyes; takes more of him into his mouth. It's not as hard as he'd imagined. Or certainly not a stretch. He hums. Again, Hannibal seems happy to teach him about himself.

He sucks until he can taste Hannibal leaking. Then he strokes him again, quicker, pulling back to lick under the head. He can feel his hips flexing, his thumb still tight against the tendon. Hannibal's breaths are quicker, deeper. _Talk to me_, Will demands wordlessly.

"I don't know that words could do it justice."

Will frowns. He can't say that's ever happened before. Certainly not to Hannibal. He pulls back with a sigh.

"Please," he says seriously. "Please tell me."

Hannibal gestures him closer, guiding him until their chests are flush. Will looks up at him, letting him bear some weight.

"When I was a child, I made myself a promise, and I kept it hidden deep, buried, until it became something entirely other - carbon, diamonds, a black hole. It kept me warm. It kept me calm. It was under my ribs for years, until I fulfilled my promise."

"And how did you do that?" Will whispers.

"I killed people who wronged me." He touches under Will's jaw gently. "And then I felt... nothing. Satisfaction, briefly, but I had lost the touchstone."

"This was before Florence?" Will asks.

"Florence was... development. My chrysalis."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I found that feeling again when I met you. I can only quantify it as something to strive for."

"Your touchstone?"

"Yes." He's so quiet like this, barely audible.

"And what are you striving for?"

"You."

"You... _have_ me, Hannibal."

"I'm just realizing that now."

Will is too. He smiles. "Will I still be your touchstone?" he murmurs.

"You always are."

His monster in truth, then. Will sighs, and strokes down his chest. "We got real emotional over oral sex there," he jokes, dry.

Hannibal looks amused, but mostly still emotional. "Sex is an emotional act." He leans into Will's hand. "And I haven't even taken my turn."

"There's no turns. I'm not done."

"I -" Hannibal takes a breath. "Would like to come inside you."

Will's turn to huff, shocked, moved. He'd like to pretend he's interested in jockeying for positions but truthfully, he's had Hannibal inside him every other way he can imagine except the one that counts now. Regardless, he's nervous at the thought. "Am I really ready -"

"You tell me," Hannibal murmurs. "All that matters is if you want it." 

"I do," Will admits, quietly, slowly. "I do."

He leans into Hannibal's chest. His arms feel as much of a shelter as they ever did, despite everything. He breathes in and out again, kisses Hannibal on a hum of pleasure. Hannibal's hands cradle his hips.

A lazy arch has them both sighing, and shifting. Wordlessly, lovingly, Hannibal coaxes Will onto his stomach, knees tucked under himself, before slowly stretching out on top of him. Will squirms while they roll and settle, peering back all the time. Hannibal is the most solid, real thing he can imagine and he's looking down at Will like he's everything he could ever want. He leans down to taste the curve of Will's neck.

"I'm really not going to get to blow you again-?" Will complains faintly, shifting to feel the way their bodies align; Hannibal’s cock, hot and heavy against the small of his back.

"Not this time." He kisses the centre of Will's back.

Will tuts at that. "That doesn't seem fair."

Hannibal's hands stay warm on his hips. Then his lips find Will's spine. More kisses. More tender places. Will's fingers bite into the sheets; into the earth. He inhales the rich dark scent. Turns his cheek against the pillow of his arm and tenses only minutely at Hannibal's hands down his spine. They feel worshipful.

He can't help but think of other people Hannibal might have worshipped - he's jealous by nature, always has been. The thought of Alana briefly crosses his mind. He tenses when Hannibal stalls.

"Stop reading my mind," Will grits.

"We're in your mind, Will."

He doesn't have the willpower to push Hannibal out. "I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbles instead.

"Then hold still for me," Hannibal replies.

Will looks at him over his shoulder; quirks a brow. Then he promptly moans when Hannibal's big hands cover his cheeks, his breath and nose skimming sensitive skin as he bows his head.

"You're obsessed," he mumbles.

"With good cause," Hannibal murmurs. He licks, circles and presses with gentle strokes of his tongue.

Will groans and shoves his face more aggressively into his arm. His throat vibrates with the noises he's stifling, but Hannibal doesn't stop, hand curling firmly around Will's aching cock. They're moving slowly but ceaselessly toward - something. Something that makes Will's toes curl. He can barely think. Maybe that's the intent.

Knowing Hannibal, it almost certainly is. And it's working.

Will groans weakly. Hannibal's tongue moves slowly inside him, more confident than last night, with more relish than savor. The noises make Will's face burn, both vocal and of flesh. They only heighten the sensations. He arches into Hannibal's hand with a mortified little whine, trapped between hands and mouth. In some ways, he thinks he always has been, in one way or another - blade or teeth. This is how completely Hannibal has claimed him. Marked him.

Hannibal is tasting him this time, and he's not stopping. Groaning softly at the realization, Will bridges his back and hides his face in the sheets. He'll be consumed one way or another. He prefers this way. Even though he's so overcome that he can't even draw a full breath.

"Hannibal," he gasps. He's still sensitive from last night, after all.

He feels Hannibal brush a thumb against his taint; up to where his tongue soothes. He presses more firmly against the smooth skin.

"Oh god," Will mutters. 

Every sensation feels amplified, every duration lengthened. Will feels like a dinner spread; like one of Hannibal's ornate tables telling of death and cannibalism. Layers upon layers, always. Except nothing separates them now but their separate skins. And even those are sometimes not enough. 

"Hannibal," he begs. "I want you inside." Will doesn't think Hannibal's answering hum is outside of his head. He breathes in a curl of incense and says it again. "Hannibal, please."

The press of his thumb again, teasing at the tip. "But you taste -" 

"Hannibal!" Will blurts it. Hannibal sounds half-drunk just on what he's doing.

He makes an almost disappointed noise and pulls back to ease in with a spit-slick finger instead, pressing it in deep and slow. That makes Will feel half-drunk instead, nerves sizzling as he crooks the finger wickedly. A somewhat embarrassing noise escapes him, his toes curling, knees hitching up against the sheets, lifting his hips into it. His cock had jumped at the press. Now, his body arches entirely as Hannibal beckons deep inside.

Hannibal's mouth presses over the globe of his cheek. Then, his teeth. Will whimpers into his forearm. Hannibal's finger presses deeper; strokes hard. More stinging bites, nips, and the finger fucking deeper.

He gasps, feeling his legs shake. God, he wants more so badly. He's never craved like this in his life. He's not sure he entirely trusts it. It's hard to let go of that much control. He clutches the sheets at the thought and gasps when Hannibal starts to ease in a second finger. His head is swimming with the effort Hannibal is making. He feels so thoroughly attended.

It's… lavish. He should have expected nothing less. He wonders if Hannibal designed this in mind. But he's had years, hasn't he? Years in the chapel, thinking of Will and listening for the sound of water. Did he draw this, Will on his belly on sheets the color of midnight? Would Will have recognized himself if he had? He doubts it. He barely recognizes himself now.

He thinks it's an improvement. He feels immense, electric and powerful. Just as Hannibal always intended.

"More," he groans.

He hears the fond amusement in Hannibal's voice. "Yes, Will."

He feels a tongue pressing in beside his fingers, which was _not_ what he meant. "Oh _fuck_!" He gasps it out, voice gone shivery and high.

He can feel himself leaking, his heart thumping. He doesn't feel like he could come, but he feels embarrassingly ready to. His hips rock back, pushing into the intrusion. Hannibal's other hand tightens hot around his cock, a holding contact becoming more. He strokes up and down until Will's slick is spread all over his skin.

"Good?" he whispers, voice pert even muffled against Will's skin.

"You - you - know it is." Will turns his face into his arm and groans at another long stroke. Hannibal doesn't let him take a breath or come down at all. "H-Hannibal, fuck, I want-" He wants more, it's still not enough.

_I've got you._ Hannibal's voice in his ears. Hannibal inside him everywhere. He wants him all the way inside.

_Please don't wait._

Hannibal slips his fingers out of Will and spreads him with both hands, dragging his tongue flat over his hole. Will cries out into the mattress, hips jolting. He tries not to see himself with Hannibal's eyes; tries to keep his mind closed so he doesn't feel the creeping shame that usually lurks. Hannibal, he's sure, feels no shame for what he wants or for what he needs. Will envies him the indifference.

_Come back_, Hannibal whispers. He's still mouthing at him, maddeningly thorough. The wetness runs down his skin again, a thin trail of slick. His nails dig into the meat of Will's ass, his stubble leaving pink specks against tender skin. It hurts, but Will grinds back into it for more. 

He thinks he's still making noises; he can't hear over the sound of a rushing river. He repeats Hannibal's name, out loud this time. He feels wet and open and debauched. When Hannibal finally pushes to his knees, he groans deep in his chest at the clarity of his voice.

"My imagination never compares to reality when it comes to you, Will. I find it a problem I've seldom experienced before."

His voice is soft, a bit confounded. Will shifts his shoulders, getting his hands under himself so he can peer back at him. He's kneeling on the bed, and Will watches him take himself in hand. It spears him with heat; makes him groan softly. "Hannibal."

"Are you ready, beloved?"

"Only for the last _hour_."

"Only an hour?"

"God, Hannibal, I swear if you don't-"

A strong hand finds his hip. He shushes Will faintly. "I have you."

"Not just yet." 

He knows he's whining, but it's far from his mind to care. He just arches back, feeling Hannibal settling closer between his spread thighs; getting his knees under Will. Spreading him even wider as Will groans.

He feels the bump of Hannibal's cock against him, and he's so sensitive. Hannibal must be too, but it's too much for Will. He groans with a full throated sound.

The first press is overwhelming; so intimate. He's wet, soft, and ready, but Hannibal is thick and hot. And relentless, his hands bruisingly tight on Will's hips. If he thinks Will might seek to run now, he's very mistaken.

Will closes his eyes, and the double exposure of their minds layers over the world he feels. That's even better, because he can feel how confounded Hannibal still is. How it gives way to euphoric bliss when he's seated all the way inside Will. The bliss is catching.

Will moans softly at the first electric rock of his hips. It's even better than his mouth. He didn't know that was possible.

He shouldn't have doubted. Hannibal's strokes are deep and even and perfectly angled to leave him gasping. He's picking up a rhythm at once, giving Will shallow, slow strokes and then deep and quick. The sound of an organ builds in the chapel. Breathless, Will jerks a pillow down and buries his face in it as each long bolt of sensation triggers another moan. He knows Hannibal can feel it regardless. He seems effortlessly in sync as ever.

Will wants to beg, wants to shout. Just thinking it gets him deeper; harder. There's nothing to him except the places where they touch. It's like floating in the ocean, letting it take him away. Like being in the current of a river.

_Born in the water_, he thinks. He wonders if Hannibal was. If they're both something new, now, or merely something conjoined.

Hannibal's hands skate up to his shoulders now, his weight shifting to his hands, pulling Will back to him in the heat of their reality. His lips find Will's ear. "Stay with me here, now."

"I'm here," Will breathes, "I'm here-" He gasps at the quickening of Hannibal's pace. He's definitely here.

Hannibal presses his face against Will's neck. His breath is hot, sounding ragged. Will would have never believed it possible, before now. He's only heard him like this the night they killed the dragon. The night when they moved as one.

They're moving as one now, too, the first time since, or before. Will feels like it's just the beginning. Feels that first rushing heat and pressure like the gush of blood over his hands and face. He cries out, feeling it vibrate through his chest and throat and into Hannibal's encircling frame.

He whispers Will's name again, kissing under his jaw over and over. Will strains back to bring them closer, inches and breaths and skin to skin. He can _feel_ the cresting pleasure in Hannibal. He can feel his own. Trickling, and then rushing. He moans Hannibal's name.

"Show me," Hannibal purrs.

He lets it all go. It's so easy with Hannibal inside him, touching him, loving him. Coming is like going over the cliff again. Back into their ocean. Their stream.

He feels Hannibal come with him. Feels the way he's glutted with desire the same way Will is; filled up with love. Each of them filled with the other.

"God," Will breathes. He presses his face into the pillow; lets Hannibal bear him down. His weight is pinning, and divinely soothing when he lies fully against Will.

Will thinks he feels a few tears against the back of his neck. He reaches back wordlessly and strokes through Hannibal's hair. Eventually he feels lips against his nape as well.

_Beloved_, Will thinks, unconsciously. The word feels like Hannibal. He adores him so intensely.

He knows he's adored in turn. God, after that, he knows he's _worshipped_. And it's intoxicating.

"Hannibal," he whispers, "do you know how much I love you?"

"Yes, Will," says that smoky-smooth voice he adores. "I do."

"Good." Will strokes his hair again slowly, suffused with warm satisfaction. "Good."

He protests lazily when Hannibal shifts off of him.

"Just a washcloth, Will."

Will stills again, letting Hannibal clean them. When he settles down again, he brackets Will's back like a human shield. A jealous protector, Will knows.

He's still letting his breathing settle, clutching Hannibal's hands gently against his chest, the soft sound of a stream trickling in the background. It's as peaceful as he can imagine.

"That was good," he whispers.

"Yes," Hannibal agrees. The choir sings softly behind his voice. Will settles more comfortably, and smiles. He twists back, just enough to see the edge of Hannibal's smile.

"I always knew you'd be good. I guess I didn't know you'd be - well, I don't know. Maybe I did. You do have somewhat of an oral fixation."

Hannibal's soft exhalation would be a snorted laugh for anyone else. "I suppose I do, somewhat. I just...want to experience every part of you."

"I can't say I'm not open to that. Or guilty of the same."

Hannibal kisses the rise of his shoulder. "I'm relieved to hear it."

"You are very convincing," Will murmurs.

"I have been told that before, but in my experience you can be very persuasive too, Will."

Will hums, hiding a smile. "I've been meaning to persuade you of something, actually."

A hand skims up and down his flank. "I'm listening."

"Winston," Will murmurs, "I think Molly still has him."

The hand doesn’t falter. Hannibal’s first reaction is a huff of laughter. 

“Your ulterior motives, revealed at last.”

“Get outta here,” Will chuckles, squeezing him close. Their laughter ebbs warmly off into the background noise of their shared sanctuary. The trailing motions of Hannibal’s fingers have gone thoughtful, though, rather than dismissive.

"Maine is very far away from where we are now," Hannibal says.

"I know. But I think she'd help us. If we were careful."

"You think she'd -" He stops himself; clicks on. "If _I_ were involved."

Will rolls over so they can look at one another. "Not just you, but - I think she'll try to talk to me if I'm on my own."

“Are you worried she’d convince you?”

“Jesus, no. She won’t want me. But she’ll try to do the right thing. Whatever that is.”

Hannibal leans in to kiss Will's forehead. "Then I will get your dog back for you."

Will bites his lip, pleasantly surprised. "That's it? No bargaining? No warning me how dangerous and implausible?"

"But you already know those things, Will," Hannibal murmurs. He strokes his hair back. "And you know I enjoy taking risks, and overcoming the implausible."

"Still," Will says. "No bargaining."

"I have terms I might bring to the table at a later date."

"Maybe you should bring them now," Will murmurs.

Hannibal curls his arm under his neck and holds him close. "You have already given me something perfect."

"I'm not perfect, Hannibal."

"Perfection is relative to the perception of those who deem it so." He pauses to take in Will's amused expression, then adds in a whisper. "And _we_ are perfect."

"We are two cannibalistic serial killers on the lam from the FBI, hiding out in the tropics." Will can't help but grin.

"You're - what's the expression? Ruining the moment, Will."

Will bites his lip. "We are soul mates," he amends, "and I don't think anyone has ever had what we have."

Hannibal's expression softens. "And they won't."

Will leans to kiss him. Hannibal's lips part, and their mouths slide together like they were meant to be that way. Will slides his hands down his body to pull him closer. They are perfect, and that's why the answer to all of his questions will always be yes.


End file.
